


I Met a Man Who Wasn't There

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Amnesia, Cussing, M/M, a bit smutty toward the end, angst and ridiculousness, health crisis at the beginning, surprisingly fluffy for all that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: After everyone gets out of Medical after Pitfall, Herc goads Chuck into spending time with Raleigh, who basically doesn't have anyone else. Mako's busy putting the entire UN into a headlock and bending them to her will, so Chuck grudgingly gives in.Things. Go. Awry.This one starts out pretty rough, but it's surprisingly fluffy, in its way. And, as always, has a happy ending. Because these people deserve happy endings, dammit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the awesome poem that somehow seems to fit:
> 
> As I was going up the stair  
> I met a man who wasn't there  
> He wasn't there again today  
> I wish, I wish he'd go away

_Just give it a shot,_ Herc said.

 _He's a bit down since Mori left,_ Herc said.

 _Jesus, kid, you don't have to like him, but can't you have some fucking sympathy?_ Herc said. Shouted. Whatever.

Which was how Chuck Hansen found himself sparring with Raleigh Becket in the kwoon, trying to take it easy, like the doctors all said, whilst still working up a sweat.

It wasn't easy. Becket hadn't lost a single fucking step -- no matter that he'd been to another dimension and everyone was silently sure he'd actually died there for a few minutes -- and the wanker seemed to not understand the concept of "taking it easy".

Not that Chuck really did, either, which was why this was a stupid fucking idea and would end up with one or both of them hurt and at least one of their bos cracked. Probably over someone's head.

And, despite the fact that Raleigh Becket was still a wanker no matter how many times he'd saved the world, Chuck really didn't want to hurt him this close out from everyone being released from Medical after Pitfall.

"So I guess that nuke blew all the fight right out of you."

Shut him up, yes, but not actively injure him. Gritting his teeth, Chuck acknowledged -- to himself only, never out loud -- that he hadn't been prepared for the trash talk.

"Pretty sure my mother could've dodged that one while she was dying of lung cancer."

No one had warned him. Mori, that cunning wretch, breezed away to wrangle the UN into submission -- because closing the goddamn Breach had given the PPDC one hell of a bargaining chip, and she intended to remind those wankers of it every chance she got -- and left Chuck holding the bag with nary a word about Becket's tendency to smartass constantly during a workout.

"Jesus, kid. You fight like a wounded buffalo. Are you sure medical cleared you?" That fucking smirk. "Or did they just pull the stick out of your ass, so now your spine doesn't have any support?"

That. Fucking. Did it.

He'd been holding back, but no more. This smug American jackass was losing teeth.

The action went from a stilted, almost tentative spar to an outright fight in a blink. Worse, the wanker actually smiled, hard and wicked, as he leapt into the challenge. Their bos streaked red almost too fast to see, no strike actually cracking home.

And out of nowhere, Chuck was... proud. Of himself, mainly, because Becket was a fucking demon in a fight and somehow, he'd yet to take a single hit, but of Becket, too.

For a brief, shining moment, Chuck actually rather liked the bastard, who really had saved the world, who'd come back and finished the job and somehow lived through it. Who was still so full of fight and life after everything that had happened.

Maybe... maybe they'd found some common ground after all.

Which made it all the more ironic when the bloke paused at the apex of an overhand chop, tilted his head to one side, and collapsed facefirst to the mat. Blinking, Chuck held his stance for a moment, wary of some sort of trick. If it was, it was one hell of a piss to take. Becket hadn't even tried to catch himself. The bo slipped from his lax fingers and, boom. Faceplant.

The bloke wasn't moving.

Chuck couldn't even be sure he was breathing, and he'd never admit to it later, but panic jumped up his throat and sent him to his knees at the bastard's side. He pressed two fingers to Becket's throat, shifted them to one side, shifted them to the other, and finally, _finally_ found a pulse. It was weak and thready and irregular, but it was there.

What the fuck just happened?

His own heart thundered away as he hooked an arm under one broad shoulder and gave a heave, turning the bloke over onto his back. Oh, fuck. Everything inside him sank, and though he'd definitely worked up a sweat by this time, Chuck suddenly felt frozen.

Becket's eyes were open, wide and staring sightlessly. One iris was the usual baby blue. The other was barely a thin blue ring around a hugely dilated pupil, the white sclera streaked and splotched with red.

Jesus. Cerebral hemorrhage. Every single jaeger pilot had seen the goddamn film back in the academy. How the--

Fuck, it didn't even matter. He had to get the bloke to Medical right fucking now.

The panic he'd never admit to made scooping the rotten sod up bridal style and shoving to his feet a trifle, and he was out of the kwoon before he could even think to warn the med bay he was on the way. No time. Becket was a dead weight in his arms, a marionette with its strings cut, a barely breathing doll with mismatched pupils and blood in his fucking eye.

_Stop thinking like that!_

He knew people were shouting at him as he ran, but he didn't hear a goddamn thing. He had one job to do: get Becket to medical before he fucking died in Chuck's arms after saving the goddamn world and living through the impossible.

Thank God, but someone had the big double doors open wide as Chuck came in sight, and he damn near ran right into the team waiting for him. Someone must have put two and two together and called ahead. Whoever it was deserved a fucking medal.

"We were sparring." Gasping, he refused to hand over the body until a gurney magically appeared before him. No fucking way was he risking someone dropping the unconscious bastard and doing more damage. "I dunno what the fuck happened. I didn't even hit him. He just went down."

Shining a light into that awful, blood-filled eye, one of the doctors damn near growled at him. "What part of 'take it easy' do you two assholes not understand? He has _four aneurysms,_ for God's sake! He piloted solo _twice!"_ Shaking his head, he gestured for everyone to clear the way. "At least one of them has ruptured. Prep the OR right the fuck now. We're losing him!"

Without another word, the whole goddamn circus ran off without him, leaving him barefoot and covered in a sickening slick of icy sweat in the lobby. He... he wanted his coat. He wanted Max.

Jesus, he didn't want Raleigh Fucking Becket to die.


	2. Chapter 2

He still hadn't managed a shower.

After the first hour, Herc came to sit with him in the waiting room and brought his boots, socks, and coat, but Chuck didn't want to put the coat on until he'd cleaned up. No sense stinking it up when he was pretty sure the cold pit in his stomach wasn't from the ambient temperature.

They couldn't reach Mori. Herc had left four messages. Chuck had left one: "Get your ass back here as soon as you get this." He figured his old man had left more details, so he went with deadly urgency instead.

After the third hour, Chuck had paced enough that even Max was tired of keeping step with him and had crashed out on on Herc's boots.

"Why won't they fucking tell us something?"

Herc sighed and rubbed his eyes. "They're trying to save his life, Chuck. They'll tell us if it worked after the fact."

"Jesus Christ."

After the sixth hour, Chuck was an exhausted knot of worry, and he was suddenly glad he'd never had this experience before. For years, he'd wished with everything in him that he could've said goodbye to his mum, could've at least seen her one last time, no matter how bad off she was. Could've had that closure.

Now, though... fuck that. Fast was better. If Becket was just going to die anyway, Chuck would rather it be instant and over. Anything but this endless waiting in a boring, sterile, white room, the swoops between hope that no news meant the bloke was still alive and they were fixing the weakened vein that had shat the bed and despair that the rotten bastard might just up and die anyway. Or already had, and no one had come to tell them yet.

At least his mum probably hadn't suffered. And he and Herc hadn't had to suffer endlessly, waiting for any word, no matter how bleak. A nuke was pretty goddamn definitive, after all. This was--

"Marshal Hansen?"

It took every ounce of willpower, but Chuck managed to not grab the exhausted-looking neurosurgeon and shake answers out of him.

"What's the news, doc?"

Sighing heavily, the bloke wiped a shaking hand over his forehead. "I shouldn't be telling you this. Mr. Becket only has Miss Mori listed as his next of kin."

Chuck felt his teeth creaking under the force of his clenching jaw.

"But these are hardly regular times, and you're the marshal, so that has to count for something. The poor kid doesn't have anyone else."

Jesus. Another blow to the gut. Raleigh really _didn't_ have anyone but them, especially with Mori still out of contact. No wonder Herc had been so irritated at Chuck digging in his heels where Becket was concerned.

"One of Mr. Becket's aneurysms ruptured, resulting in almost instant disruption of brain function."

Chuck stumbled back two steps and fell into a seat, eyes wide. Max jerked to his feet with a grunt, startled enough to cram himself under the bench behind Herc's legs.

"He's alive and currently out of immediate danger. We managed to seal the rupture and drain off most of the hematoma to relieve pressure, but... damage was done. How much, we don't know yet."

Voice weak, Herc asked the question Chuck suddenly didn't have the strength to ask. "When will we know?"

"When he--" The surgeon stopped himself, swallowed hard, and seemed to force himself to meet Herc's eyes. _"If_ he regains consciousness."

"Jesus."

It was barely a whisper. Chuck wasn't sure anyone heard it, though the waiting room had gone deadly silent.

"Doc--" Herc stopped, cleared his throat to rid it of the hoarseness, and tried again. "Tell me that 'if' is a worst case scenario, mate."

"It is." But the bloke didn't look too goddamn optimistic. "He's young, and he's already proved tough as an angry bull. I think he'll come around, though it might take some time." A sigh. "But I won't lie to you, sir: there _will be_ damage. How much is anyone's guess." Another swipe over the sweaty forehead. "His brain's chemistry and anatomy both were... altered... when he passed through the Breach. We knew that from the scans we took after Pitfall. The aneurysms were the least of what we found up there. That may help, or that may hurt, but either way, it makes it impossible to predict how much function he'll retain if and when he comes out of the coma."

Altered. Jesus. Becket hadn't told him any of this. His old man hadn't, either. Or maybe Herc hadn't known.

He felt sick. How the fuck had all of this happened?

Hadn't the bloke suffered enough?

Sounding gut-punched, Herc finally managed another question. "What can we do?"

Another sigh. "Not much, I'm afraid. Sit with him? Talk to him? His brainwaves show response to auditory stimulus, so he can at least hear you. He might even understand." Now, the bastard shrugged. "It can't hurt, anyway."

Chuck didn't remember primary school, so he didn't feel even a bit ridiculous when his hand shot into the air as if a teacher would call on him for the answer.

"I'll do it." He swallowed and let his hand fall a bit. "I'll sit with him."

Because Herc was the goddamn marshal and couldn't be spared. Because Mori was the only one of them diplomatic enough to not just tell the goddamn UN to shove their useless political support up their collective pasty, fat ass.

Because Raleigh Fucking Becket didn't have anyone else, and that wasn't fucking fair.

The surgeon frowned slightly. "I'm already committing a breach of ethics in saying any of this to anyone but his next of kin. I really should have asked you to step out before telling the marshal, but... I'll admit I was rattled. I appreciate your willingness to help, Mr. Hansen, but you're neither family nor his superior officer."

Scowling, Chuck finally shoved back to his feet and glared down on the doctor he wouldn't allow himself to punch because he'd apparently saved Becket's life.

"I'm his goddamn friend, yeah? That'll have to fucking do."

Eyes wide, the bloke shot a glance at Herc, who must have nodded because he quickly put his hands up and backed a step away.

"Under the circumstances... Mr. Hansen, I guess it'll have to fucking do."

Goddamn right it would.


	3. Chapter 3

Raleigh Becket really was one tough son of a bitch.

Thirty-eight hours after damn near dropping dead, the bloke blinked open his eyes -- the right one still ringed red around the blue, but it was already cycling out, and the pupil was almost normal -- looked around the room, and immediately tried to sit up. Luckily, Chuck had only budged from his uncomfortable armchair to shower and take the occasional bathroom break, so he was right there at hand to calm the poor sod down even as he gently pushed him back down against the pillows.

"No you don't, mate." He couldn't keep the relief out of his voice and wasn't sure he should try. "You're in no shape for that yet."

The silly sod blinked at him for a long moment, then frowned. "Why am I in Australia?"

Chuck snorted, a weight rolling off his shoulders, and sat back down. From what the surgeon had said, he'd half-expected the bloke to be a goddamn vegetable. But no. Raleigh Becket was still a snarky jackass.

Just the way Chuck liked him.

"Yeah, yeah, you're hilarious. How're you feeling? Should I call in the doc?"

The bloke blinked again, pale and hollow-eyed but alive and talking. "Uh... I don't... am I not in Australia, then? What happened?"

Okay, the bloke was confused. Chuck could deal with that. He could deal with just about anything, so long as Becket was talking sense.

"Why would you be in Australia?"

"...You do have an Australian accent, right? Jesus, where the fuck am I? What happened?"

Frowning a bit, he debated whether or not Becket was capable of trolling him this hard after being in a coma from severe cerebral hemorrhaging. Because right now, that might be the best case scenario.

"I'm _from_ Australia, mate, but we're not _in_ Australia. Where...." He paused, leaning closer. "Where do you think you are?"

Becket's mouth opened, shut, opened again. "I... don't know, actually."

Shit. Those baby blues suddenly looked way too worried for this to be an epic joke. Becket wasn't taking the piss.

"Ray, it's all right. Just... tell me the last thing you remember."

Because of course the bloke was a bit confused. Hell, the silly fuck should probably be drooling at this point, so even this much cognitive ability was a goddamn miracle.

Okay, so Chuck may or may not have been reading up on brain damage whilst sitting by Becket's bedside. He was bored, and reading medical journals aloud seemed more appropriate than reciting jaeger schematics for hours on end.

"...Is that my name? Ray?"

What. The. Fuck.

"You know me, right?" The bloke swallowed, translucently pale. The silenced monitor by his head started flashing as his heart rate soared. "You're talking to me like I should know you."

Feeling weak all over again, Chuck slumped back in the awful chair. "Please tell me you're taking the piss."

"Fucking hell, am I incontinent, too? Jesus Christ, man, tell me what the fuck happened to me!"

Thank God, but Chuck was spared breaking into either hysterical laughter or just plain hysterics by a doctor and three med techs running into the room. He was inelegantly shoved out of the way and fetched up in a corner, where he watched Becket try his damnedest not to panic as a swarm of strangers took vitals and asked questions and flashed lights in his eyes.

Not on his goddamn watch.

"Jesus Christ, ya wankers! Let the poor bastard breathe!" Scowling, he waded back in and shoved the techs gently but firmly aside until he stood at Becket's side again. "It's all right, Ray-- Raleigh. That's your name, yeah? Raleigh Becket. Do you remember it now I've said it right?"

The doctor opened his mouth, but Chuck shot him a look so full of "shut the fuck up" that the wanker did so without a single protest.

"Raleigh?"

Out of nowhere, the poor sod grabbed onto Chuck's hand. That grip was probably supposed to be tight enough to hurt, but it was pitifully weak.

"Do I know these people?"

Fuck if he knew. "Uh... not necessarily. They're medical staff. You may have met them after Pitfall?"

Wide blue eyes met his, that sadly weak grip twitching. "What's Pitfall?"

Fuck. How the hell did he explain...?

"Uh... this might be easier if you tell us what you _do_ know, yeah?"

Becket, wan and scared and looking like nothing more than a pair of terrified blue eyes -- one still ringed slightly with red -- shot the much less frantic techs a wall-eyed stare. "I... shit, I dunno."

Turning his hand so it actually clasped the poor bloke's, Chuck tried not to show how worried he was. "Don't know what, mate?"

Jesus, he wasn't prepared for the full force of that blue panic-stare. It damn near knocked him off his feet. Raleigh Becket stared at Chuck as if he was the only solid rock in the middle of a hurricane-tossed ocean, and the desperation in that look nearly unhinged his knees.

"Anything. I... don't know anything."

Well.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

"Retrograde amnesia." The neurosurgeon, who'd been rousted out of bed to consult, pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed one closed eye with his thumb and one closed eye with his middle finger. "Seems to mostly affect his episodic memory -- who he is, who we are, where he is, what year it is -- but that he doesn't seem to remember anything about being a jaeger pilot or the entire kaiju war suggests his semantic memory might be impaired, as well."

Chuck closed his eyes and tried not to sigh too hard. They'd finally gotten through to Mori, but she couldn't get on a plane for another twelve hours, so she'd demanded someone take a tablet in to Becket so she could talk to him and see if he recognized her.

He didn't.

And when she tried to explain that they'd been copilots, had Drifted, had telepathically piloted a giant robot to fight giant monsters from another dimension, Raleigh's response was, "Ha. What?"

The poor sod had looked right at Chuck as if to share the joke. For some reason, the bloke seemed to think Chuck was the only honest person in a whole house of crazies.

Or he had, until Chuck called up news footage of Striker's fight against Mutavore, at which point Becket scowled, slapped the tablet out of Chuck's hand, and thanked him kindly for being full of shit and trying to feed it to him.

Now, the wanker refused to speak to any of them.

"He can talk. He knows that he's in a hospital-type setting, though he apparently doesn't know what a shatterdome is." Slumping, the doctor shook his head. "Considering he spent a significant portion of his life in and out of shatterdomes, that fact is... troubling. And he has no idea who he is. No recognition of his reflection, of his own name, or of Miss Mori. Considering they actually shared mindspace in the Drift, I find that especially troubling."

Suddenly, Chuck opened his eyes and sat up fully. "Oi, there's a thought. Could they Drift when she gets back? We've still got an old sim generator 'round here somewhere, yeah? It should have a functioning pons."

Herc and Mori -- the latter still listening in via tablet and looking worried and impatient as hell -- both brightened, but before they could even begin to plan, the surgeon wanker shook his head.

"That is not an option."

Herc frowned. "Why not? Sounds like the perfect solution to me. His memory might not be perfect afterward, since it'd be Mako's memory of his memory, but it'd be better than nothing, yeah?"

The doctor, wanker that he was, rolled his eyes. "Why do I have to keep reminding you people that he has _four aneurysms?_ One of which has already ruptured from nothing more than a moderate physical workout? Do you really think his brain could handle the stress of even a training-level neural load?"

Goddammit. Crossing his arms, Chuck slumped back in yet another uncomfortable chair and wished he knew what the fuck to do.

This wasn't fair. Raleigh Becket deserved better.

"Look, as I said before, we have no way of predicting how his brain will react to everything that's happening to it right now. The fact that he's talking at all and able to move all of his limbs, no matter how weak he is currently, is a miracle. He may not have his memory, but he's alive. He's _functional."_

Mori sighed, her jaw clenching. "It's not that we're not grateful, Dr. Singh. It's just... will he ever be himself again?"

"Short answer?" The surgeon shrugged. "I don't know."

Herc's jaw clenched. "Not good enough."

"Look, marshal, if you know anyone who can predict how clocking time in another dimension will affect the neurological healing of a man who should have died twice over from piloting solo in the first damn place, be my guest in bringing them in."

The old man looked pissed but didn't rebut. What could he say?

Nodding as if Herc had actually agreed, the doctor continued. "Me? I deal in the real world, so this case is already beyond me. The fact that he's not still comatose shocks the hell out of me. That he's conversant? Understands things being said to him? Has use of and range of motion in all four limbs?" The bloke threw his hands up. "Goddammit, people, what more do you want?"

Chuck shot a despairing glance at Herc and saw much the same expression there. And on Mori's face, as well.

"Doctor...." Mori sighed again. "We just want Raleigh back."

And with that, Chuck could only agree.


	5. Chapter 5

After a short powwow during which it was decided that, miraculously enough, Raleigh seemed to react better to Chuck than to anyone else, Chuck found himself inching into the poor bloke's intensive care room, half-hoping Becket would be asleep. Not comatose, of course. Just... not glaring at him and ignoring him at the same time.

Of course, he wasn't lucky like that. The bloke was definitely glaring at him.

"You again."

"Hello to you, too." He rolled his eyes and walked over to sit down in the uncomfortable chair for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation. "At least you're talking to me now."

A shrug. "Gotta talk to someone." The poor sod swallowed hard and lowered his eyes. "If I'm ever gonna figure out who the hell I am."

He had no idea what to say to that. Thus, he reckoned his best bet was to keep his big mouth shut.

"So... where's my family?"

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

His expression must have shown exactly how little he wanted to answer that question because Becket blenched and slumped.

"C'mon, Red. Hit me with it. Why isn't anyone here? Did they all get eaten by these monsters I supposedly fought?"

Ignoring the nickname he wasn't sure he appreciated, Chuck fidgeted with the hem of his shirt and wished he hadn't been singled out as the honest one. Who the fuck nominated him for that shit?

"Uh... just the one, really."

_Jesus. H. Christ._

"Are... are you serious?"

Wincing, he met the poor bloke's incredulous gaze. "I wish I weren't, mate. Your brother. Yancy."

"Right." Shaking his head, he slumped back against the pillows to stare up at the ceiling. "What else ya got?"

Jesus, why wasn't Mori here to tell him this shit? Chuck was woefully unprepared for any of this. Why the hell was he stuck with the task of breaking the poor sod's heart?

"Your... uh... well, your mum died of lung cancer when you were in your teens." He swallowed hard, not wanting to stare at that pale, expressionless face but unable to look away. "Your old man didn't take it well. Drank. He... up and left. You and Yancy tried to take care of your little sister--" Jesus, what was her name? He didn't fucking know. He only knew the broadstrokes. "--but from what my old man says, you had to give her up to government custody to join the PPDC. She ran off right after you signed up."

And no one had heard from her since. But he really didn't want to say that.

"PPDC."

"Pan-Pacific Defense Corps." He shrugged, massively uncomfortable. "Formed to fight the... uh... yeah."

"And then my brother was eaten by Godzilla."

Huffing, he shook his head. "Whilst you were telepathically connected to him. Forgot that part."

"Right. So, lemme get this straight."

He couldn't help it. He flinched.

"You're telling me that my only living relatives are a deadbeat dad who ran off and left his underage children to fend for themselves, and a runaway little sister who may or may not have also been eaten by Godzilla."

Jesus.

"Uh... basically. Though she was probably crushed instead of eaten. The kaiju tended to wreck shit more than grab handfuls of people and shove 'em in, yeah?"

"That's comforting."

Clearing his throat, he shifted in his seat. "Sorry, mate."

They were quiet a long, nerve-stretching moment. Eventually, the bloke sighed heavily and rolled his head to stare at Chuck with tired eyes.

"Y'know, the more I hear about this guy I'm supposed to be, the more I hope I'm not really him."

"Oi, don't." Sitting forward, he shook his head. "Look, I've done a shite job of breaking all this to you, but that doesn't mean--"

"Really, Red? Because it sounds to me like his family's either dead or fucked off, and the only people who even knew he was alive are his coworker, his boss, and his boss's kid." Snorting, the bloke closed blue eyes gone glassy and turned away. "Raleigh Becket sounds like a goddamn loose end to me." Another hard swallow. "Maybe we should just cut him off."

Well, fuck. What the hell did he even say to that?

He'd never once considered that maybe Raleigh wouldn't _want_ to remember himself. He'd been -- hell, they'd _all_ been -- so concerned with getting the bloke's memory back that it hadn't occurred to any of them that maybe... it'd be kinder to just... let all of that go.

Maybe it'd even be a mercy.

But Raleigh Becket had dropped Gipsy Danger into the bay to save Chuck's ass. Raleigh Becket had opened his mind again, even knowing how it felt to have part of himself ripped away, to leap back into the fight. Raleigh Becket had thrown himself into the Breach, ejecting his copilot even knowing that piloting solo again would probably kill him. Had somehow kept his shit together enough to manually detonate Gipsy's core. Had survived in the Throat with no oxygen and no pulse.

"Oi, Raleigh--"

"Ray." The bloke blinked at the ceiling. "Please."

Oh, how times had changed.

Nodding even as he felt his throat tighten, he sat further forward in the stupid chair, perched right on the edge of the seat.

"Right, then. Ray. Look, I know it sounds bad laid out like that, but that's just the broadstrokes, yeah? 'S not who you are."

He tried to force a smile, but he'd never been much good at smiles. And the bloke wasn't looking at him, anyway.

"You and your brother racked up four kaiju kills before the bastards learned enough to attack the conn pod. And you fucking killed that last one all on your own, piloting solo, already wounded and with your jaeger one step shy of the rubbish heap. Only one other person has survived that, mate, and it took a goddamn toll."

Okay, maybe that wasn't the most encouraging story.

"And yeah, you may have left after your brother died, but you fucking well came back and risked that sort of mindfuck again to get us through our last stand. You may not really know what that means now, but you were brave as fuck to try it, and you made that shit work. You and Mori killed two kaiju by yourselves when two jaegers fighting together couldn't do it and me and Dad were stopped cold by an EMP."

Unmoved, the bloke huffed. "I must have been really into science fiction as a kid or something. Some of that shit almost makes sense."

"Oi, I'm not taking the piss, here." Giving up on the chair entirely, since he couldn't get the wanker to actually look at him, he shoved to his feet, then sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to tug on any lines or leads. "Look at me."

The strong jaw, lined with stubble from not shaving since the bloke collapsed, clenched.

"Ray, c'mon."

The wanker rolled his eyes, then determinedly stared at Chuck's chin. Close enough.

"You. Are. A fucking hero. You saved the whole bloody world. Everyone in the shatterdome would tell you the same. Hell, most people out on the street would give you their wallets, the clothes off their backs, their fucking _daughters_ if they thought it would make up for what they owe you."

That stubbled jaw clenched again, and the bloke finally met his eyes. "I can't even begin to conceive why you people would make something like this up."

Sighing, he slumped. "We wouldn't."

But Becket shook his head. "It's... man, it's just too crazy to believe. I may not have my memory, but I'm not a goddamn idiot."

"Jesus, Ray." He let his head fall back. "All right, so when you're up and about again, I'll take you to Oblivion Bay. It's where we put jaegers that were too fucked up to restore. We've scavenged some parts here and there, but you can still tell what they are."

"Red, just let it--"

"Or to the Bone Slums, right here in Hong Kong."

"Good God, is that where we are? How the hell did I even get here?"

Huffing, he glared at the silly fuck. "Not the time, mate. But seriously, as soon as you're cleared to leave the 'dome, I'll take you to the Bone Slums and show you the huge fucking kaiju carcass some cultist fuckwits turned into a goddamn religious shrine. Or to Chau's dodgy-ass back room where he keeps all the fucked up kaiju body parts he uses in his bullshit cures."

Becket stared at him, his expression unreadable. Chuck tried not to fidget, tried to look sincere. He had no idea what else to say.

Finally: "We must have been really good friends, Red."

Surprised, he snorted. "Oh, fuck no. I fucking hated you."

The bloke's eyebrows shot up, and Chuck cursed internally.

"At first, I mean. Jesus, sorry." He ran a hand over his face, well aware that he was blushing like a moron. "I was... fuck, it doesn't matter now. I was a wanker, and I treated you like shit."

Clearly confused, the poor sod tilted his head to one side. "Then why the hell are you even here? Jesus, am I really down to just my coworker and my goddamn boss?"

"Oi, fuck, work with me, mate." Blushing worse, he crossed his arms tried not to scowl. "I like you just fine now, yeah? I mean, I did before the... I mean, it's not like I don't like you right this second. Just, we were starting to get along before you... fuck."

The ratbag's mouth twitched.

"Don't fucking do it."

Another twitch, and those fucking baby blues crinkled at the corners.

"Ray, I swear to God--"

The wanker snickered, and Chuck stood up off the bed and dropped down into the chair, irritated and not bothering to hide it.

"Fucking wanker."

"I like you, Red. You're kind of an asshole, but I probably was, too."

Rolling his eyes, he slumped and scuffed his boot at the tiles on the floor. "Stop calling me Red. It's fucking rude."

"Really?"

Scowling, he shot the bloke a glare.

"I have no idea what your name is. We haven't exactly been introduced."

"Jesus. Christ."

"I thought that name was already taken."

"Oi!"

The wanker snickered again, ridiculously pleased with himself, and Chuck caught himself wondering if he was finally meeting a Raleigh Becket without the weight of regret and grief that had darkened those eyes all those years. Still a wanker, of course, but....

"Chuck, okay?" Grunting, he shrugged. "Chuck Hansen."

"Chuck." The bloke nodded, still smirking but with less asshole behind it. "Nice to meet you."

"Such a wanker."

He could get used to that smirk.

Probably a good thing, in retrospect.


	6. Chapter 6

It took a week for the neurosurgeon wanker to clear Raleigh to leave Medical, and even that was on strict orders -- printed off, no less -- to not strain himself in any way. No heavy lifting. No working out.

_No goddamn sparring._

That one was in bold, enlarged font, underlined three times and followed by a string of exclamation points.

The wanker even had the sack to take Chuck by the upper arm, glare up at him, and tell him that under no circumstances was Mr. Becket to leave the shatterdome. If he wanted some fresh air, he could take the lift to the observation deck, but that was it.

_No. Stairs._

Becket, of course, made unhappy noises about feeling like a prisoner and all of this probably being a ridiculously stupid conspiracy to keep him from proving that all this kaiju/jaeger nonsense was the bullshit he still suspected it to be. Chuck rolled his eyes, dragged the wanker -- gently, of course -- to his own bunk, and started scrolling through the long, admittedly crazy-sounding years of the kaiju war on his desk array.

News footage. Propaganda. Retrospective journal articles about the formation of the PPDC, the jaeger program, and Drift technology. Pilot fan pages, for God's sake.

None of it connected. The bloke began to admit that it was probably true because there was just too much information, but it meant nothing to him. None of it was familiar. All of that was just... gone.

Unfortunately, that meant that, of all of them, Mori took it the hardest. She'd been so hopeful when she flew back into the shatterdome and ran to the bloke's bedside in Medical. So sure that all it would take was looking her in the eye and leaning their foreheads together, and it would all come rushing back like the Drift. Or that he'd at least recognize her.

Thus, when Raleigh politely told her -- shifting awkwardly and clearly wanting to lean away -- that she seemed like a nice, very interesting person and he hoped to get to know her, her usual front of tranquility cracked, and for the first time in his life, Chuck had the displeasure of watching Mako Mori cry. She didn't weep or wail. As she stood away from the bed, it was all huge, welling eyes and silent trails of tears down her pale cheeks, but that was somehow worse.

Worse still when Becket hesitated, then awkwardly touched her hand, asking if there was anything he could do to make it better.

She and Chuck exchanged despairing glances. _Go back to being Raleigh,_ they both thought but would never say. Not like it was the bloke's fault he wasn't himself.

The next day, she returned to the UN summit, quiet and composed, promising to talk to Raleigh every day in hopes of getting through to him, but her eyes told another tale. She would call, of course, but she knew she wouldn't be talking to the Raleigh she missed. The Raleigh they all missed.

And Becket... just smiled, soft and bittersweet, and said he wished he _did_ know her. She seemed like an amazing person.

Unfortunately, because Mori had no choice but to keep marching forward against the UN's continual attempts to re-impose control, Chuck was again appointed the silly sod's minder, of sorts. The rupture had put pressure on the bloke's brain, and though the surgical team quickly siphoned most of it away, the remaining pressure left lingering neuropathy, causing muscle weakness that left the bloke far shakier on his feet than anyone was comfortable with. The neurosurgeon didn't explicitly say "Do not leave Mr. Becket alone", but all of his discharge instructions were given with the assumption that someone would be around to help do the things the bloke wasn't supposed to do on his own.

Everyone hoped -- Raleigh most of all -- that the weakness was temporary. Everyone feared -- Raleigh _least_ of all -- that trying to rebuild his strength would rupture another aneurysm and leave the rotten sod a vegetable this time.

So, somehow, preventing that became Chuck's duty.

Oddly enough, he didn't mind as much as he expected to, despite having to send Max to stay with Herc to keep him out from underfoot. They didn't quite spend every waking minute together, but it was a damn near thing, and that sort of constant contact with another human being was something of a novelty for him.

It helped that, once the bloke started to believe at least some of the science fiction-worthy nonsense was true, the understandably restless bastard actually became curious about the war. Becket admitted that part of his curiosity stemmed from how profoundly his memory loss affected Mori every time they spoke. If he at least understood some of the lingo and context, maybe she wouldn't always look so fucking sad when they said their goodbyes.

But there was also a natural curiosity there that Chuck somehow hadn't expected. Raleigh Becket had always seemed like a "do what needs to be done and to hell with the rest" type to him, but maybe that was because he'd met the bloke after everything had already been taken from him. After he'd learned caution the hardest possible way and curbed his impulsiveness from the horrible consequences.

Again, he found himself wondering if the hours'-long conversations about kaiju classifications and all the time spent poring over jaeger schematics -- and the occasional middle-of-the-night kitchen run for snacks -- meant he was finally meeting an earlier, unspoiled version of his old rival. A Raleigh whose brother hadn't been yanked screaming out of his mind. Who hadn't spent five years wasting his life on a wall he had to know would never work because... what else was there?

In fact, Chuck was having such a good time with this unexpectedly fascinating side of the bloke that it took him two solid weeks to realize that Becket never clicked a link with his name in it. Never asked for records of his own battles. Never brought up his academy record.

Never mentioned his family, missing or otherwise.

It wasn't in Chuck's nature to not attack a situation head-on, so he wasted no time asking right out.

"What, so you wanna know about the world but don't give a fuck about yourself?"

Okay, so he could've probably used a softer approach. Becket's jaw tightened, and it suddenly occurred to Chuck that he hadn't seen that particular expression since before the poor sod was released from Medical.

"Don't see the point. Those articles about Raleigh Becket?" That epic jawline clenched harder. "None of them are about me."

"Oi, that's not tr--"

"Don't. Just... don't." Slumping, the bloke looked away. "I'm not him, okay? It's bad enough to see how much Mako misses that guy. I don't need to miss my goddamn self."

Chuck sighed. He couldn't even begin to argue that logic. "Okay. Okay, I guess I can see that. But you're not even interested in your family?"

A snort, though the poor bastard looked suddenly tired. "Fat lot of good it'd do, considering they're all gone, one way or another."

"They're part of who you are, mate."

Uh-oh. The jaw clenched again. "They're part of who _he_ was." A hard glare. "Don't you get it, Chuck? Barring a miracle, he's just as dead and gone as they are. What the fuck good would it do to stare at pictures of strangers and try to feel something for them? To know they should mean something to me but don't?"

"Ray--"

"Goddammit, Red, don't you think I have?" The poor bloke shoved to his feet, wavered, and sat back down, hands clenched on the desk's edge like he was desperate not to punch something. "I've spent _hours_ staring at those goddamn strangers, trying to see anything familiar, anything I love or miss or feel any kind of connection to, but there's just _nothing._ And I feel guilty as fuck about it, and I can't fucking do it anymore, okay?"

Shit. The bloke was getting too worked up. This was definitely against the doctor's orders. Backing down, Chuck put his hands up.

"Sorry, mate. I shouldn't have brought it up, yeah? I... didn't think."

Shaking hands covered the poor sod's face. After a long moment, Becket sighed and slumped down to lay his head on his arms on the desk.

"I don't know if he's coming back, Chuck." A hard swallow. "And I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would want him to."

For a while, there was nothing more to say.


	7. Chapter 7

"When I was fourteen, a kaiju codenamed Yamarashi crawled out of the Breach and headed for Los Angeles."

Raleigh, who'd been doing the very light strengthening exercises the neurologist approved -- after glaring hard at both of them and insisting he do only as many reps as indicated and not a single one more -- grunted. "Yeah? Was your dad deployed?"

Chuck managed a grin, though he watched the bloke warily. He wasn't used to beating about the bush, but his usual head-on approach had done more harm than good last time.

"Not this time. Two other jaegers were, though -- a tried-and-true and a rookie. It was a crazy fight, mate."

"I bet you just couldn't wait to get out there and do it yourself."

Because of course they'd managed to touch on Chuck's determination to be a jaeger pilot and avenge his mum's death. And be better than his old man, but Becket had graciously allowed him to gloss over that part. Probably because the poor bastard had no idea that Herc and Chuck had spent the past ten years furious at each other and only connecting in the Drift.

So he just nodded and continued, still watchful for the unpredictable sod's reaction. "The rookie jaeger was just supposed to stand guard. Only jump in if the other needed assistance, yeah?"

No flicker of recognition. The bloke just kept doing his minor isometrics, though a glance from those big blue eyes proved the sod was still listening.

"Can't remember the older jaeger's name, but its missiles didn't work. Yamarashi was a huge fucker, and they just didn't do enough damage. So the rookie pilots had to stride their jaeger in."

A quick grin. "Lemme guess: you coulda done whatever they did, but sooner and better and more awesome."

Despite having spent the past week coming up with this particular plan and having no confidence whatsoever about its success, Chuck snorted. "Well, yeah. Not the point, though."

"Sorry. Go on."

"I said it was a crazy fight, yeah? Even the newer weaponry didn't have enough punch to knock that big bastard down. It kept trying to head inland, but Gi-- uh, the rookie jaeger forced it over toward the harbor instead. There were cargo cranes there for loading and unloading freight, and the jaeger managed to wrestle the damn thing over to them and cut the fucker's head off with a crane cable."

The bloke's eyebrows rose and he paused to nod. "Not bad, actually. A little low-tech and on-the-fly, but obviously effective."

Chuck nodded. "I thought so, too. Impressive as hell. Not from the standard kaiju-fighting school of thought, for sure." This next bit was what he was least sure about, if for no other reason than that he'd never wanted his old rival to know. "Followed that piloting team's career with interest after that."

This version of Raleigh Becket smiled more easily than the version Chuck first met, but that smile was no less warm or bright despite its new familiarity. "Chuck Hansen. Are you admitting to hero-worshipping a pair of rookie schmucks? That is adorable."

He cleared his throat and played his trump card. "A pair of rookie schmucks named Yancy and Raleigh Becket."

That warm, engaging expression darkened instantly. The hard jaw clenched.

Shrugging awkwardly, Chuck finished off his gambit. "That kinda shit is why we all want Raleigh Becket back, mate. No one else in the world like him." He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to fidget at the continued jaw-clenching. "You were handed the short end of the stick, Ray, and no one's gonna argue that, but... you're more than that. We just... want you to be you again, yeah? Nothing more, nothing less."

Amazing, really, how many expressions could cross such a closed-off face. Becket went from angry to sulky to balky to disturbed in a moment, then settled on wary.

Eyebrows furrowed, he finally looked Chuck right in the eye. "You sure we weren't actually friends, Red?"

Relieved, though the potential for a storm hadn't entirely passed, Chuck grinned. "Positive. You're a wanker and I'm an asshole. We really were starting to get on a bit, but... no. Not mates yet."

That earned a wan grin, though the bloke immediately dropped his attention back to his exercises. "I guess that's one way I'm ahead of that Raleigh Becket wanker, then."

And, though he laughed at the terrible fake accent, Chuck couldn't help but feel like a complete sap at the implication.

Friends, then.

He thought maybe he could do that now.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't until they strolled out of Medical after a check-up of Becket's status and progress that Chuck suddenly realized the bloke had lost his memory a full month ago. How was that possible? It seemed like... a few days, at best. Maybe a week.

He was so startled by the revelation that he stopped cold, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Becket took a few steps further, then paused and eyed him curiously.

"Please tell me you're not about to rupture an aneurysm and drop like a sack of potatoes."

Because of course Chuck had told the bloke what had happened. And of course he'd softened the horror by taking the piss out of it.

"Doc says I still can't lift much more than a gallon of milk, so you're shit out of luck if you go down."

He managed a snort at that. As usual, Becket was proving harder to kill than a New York cockroach. The weight restrictions were still in place, but the neurosurgeon wanker was astonished by the improvement in the bloke's strength and stamina.

Because it had only been a month. A whole goddamn month.

"I'm fine, ya ratbag." He shook off his stymie. "Just realized we two assholes have been damn near arm-in-arm for a month, and neither of us are bleeding."

The wanker grinned. Because he was a wanker like that. "Probably because I seem to have forgotten how big an asshole you really are."

Fighting an appalling smirk, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Too soon, mate. Too goddamn soon."

The rotten sod snickered and walked on. Chuck, of course, fell into step. They walked a while in surprisingly companionable silence.

Of course, it couldn't last. They were who they were, after all.

"Honestly, Chuck?" Uh-oh. That wasn't a surprisingly companionable tone. "I think it's because you're the only person here who actually likes _me_ instead of the Late, Great Raleigh Becket."

He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Mate, you _are_ Raleigh Becket."

The bloke rolled his eyes and trudged up the steps to Chuck's bunk, where they always seemed to fetch up eventually. "Not in any way that matters. We've had this conversation." A pointed glare from narrow blue eyes. "So many times."

Despite the sinking in his stomach he was becoming entirely too familiar with, Chuck snorted and let them both in. "That's a load of shite, and you know it."

The poor sod slumped down into the one chair in the room, crossing his arms and pouting like a goddamn kid. "So you keep saying. And yet, here we still are: us friends when we supposedly had no use for each other a month ago, me not having a goddamn clue if I'm meeting strangers or people I've known for years, and Mako reminding me every time we talk that she's part of my soul and I'm ripping it right out of her when I don't fucking know who she really is to me." He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Not saying she means to. Just...."

Chuck wanted to slump down on the bed and sigh, but he didn't. The conversations with Mori were harder on the bloke each time. The poor bastard wanted so badly to remember for her, to be himself enough to crack through the polite mask Mori always greeted him with that Chuck knew meant she was hurting just as bad. Every time they rang off, it took longer for Becket to shrug off the shadows.

God only knew how Mori was really holding up. In her way, she was as emotionally remote as Chuck and just as stubborn about bleeding on anyone else when there was work still to be done.

So, though he wanted to join the bloke in the slumps, he forced another snort instead and strode over to his closet. This was a stupid idea. Again, this wasn't something he ever wanted Raleigh Becket to know.

But fuck if he could stand the look on the poor sod's face.

After he'd rummaged about for the old boot box he'd hidden away under his ragged old duffel in the very back of the bottom of the closet, he geared himself up and turned around with the ancient artifact in hand.

"You give me shit about this, Becket, and I will never forgive you. We clear?"

One eyebrow rose, and the bloke sat up, that odd curiosity sparking those baby blues. Grumbling, Chuck handed over the dog-eared jaeger pilot calendar he'd hoarded away lo, these many years, and shrugged.

"Flip to July."

The eyebrow inched up further, but the rotten sod did as requested. Then, _both_ eyebrows shot up.

"What the fuck?"

Feeling the red creep up his neck and into his cheeks, Chuck cleared his throat. "All I can say is thank God the swimsuit edition came out when I was still technically underage."

Because the large, full-color picture above the block of July 2019 dates was the all-American Becket Brothers in all their blond-haired, blue-eyed glory, miles of tanned, oiled skin interrupted only in the briefest possible way by red, white, and blue speedos.

Very. Tiny. Speedos.

Blinking wide eyes, the silly wanker held the calendar out at arm's length to get a less up-close look. "How the fuck did they get us to do this?"

Fighting the urge to fidget, he shrugged. "Those days? I imagine they just asked. You two had quite the reputation." Despite his embarrassment, he snorted. "For all I know, you rotten sods already had the speedos."

The bloke rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Chuck, why would you still have this?"

The heat in his face increased. "Shut up."

That got a glance, then a second look that lingered. "The hell is wrong with you?"

He cleared his throat and ignored how glowing red his face had to be to gesture vaguely at the calendar. "Take another look, mate. Do you see any scars on you?"

"No. And I can really, really tell."

His eye twitched, but he ignored the jab. "That's the point mate. You didn't have drivesuit scars then. When I met you, you had old ones on your left side. Before you dropped like a skin louse off a dead kaiju, you had new ones on your right side from Pitfall. Now, you have them on your brain." Still massively uncomfortable, he forced a somewhat casual shrug. "But they're all you, yeah?"

Light dawned, and the bloke frowned a bit as he leaned back in the chair to eye Chuck intently. "I know there's a way to argue that point, but I'll be damned if I can think of it right now."

Feeling marginally better because that was as close to a concession as he was likely to get from someone easily as stubborn as Chuck was himself, he snatched the old piece of propaganda out of the silly bastard's hands and closed it.

"I'm just sayin, mate. I do like you just fine now, and you probably do like me one fuck of a lot better not knowing how big a dick I was to you, but I also had a lot of respect for the bloke that opened up and let Mori in, even knowing how hard it was to lose someone that close."

He should stop talking now. He'd made his point.

Unfortunately, his mouth just kept flapping.

"And I had one fuck of a lot of respect for the youngest successful jaeger pilot before me, though I didn't know much more about him than that he was a goddamn genius in the conn pod and had an ass that made me realize I wasn't one-hundred percent straight."

Oh.

Fuck.

Oh, _fuck._

He closed his eyes. "Ray. Please, for the love of all that's holy, tell me I didn't say that out loud."

"Only if _you_ tell _me_ my ass is the reason you kept that calendar all this time."

The wanker was smirking. He didn't have to see. He could hear it in the rotten bastard's voice.

"So... am I gay, too? Or bi, or whatever?"

Grumbling, he shoved the cursed calendar back into the boot box and stowed it under the pile again. "How the fuck would I know?"

"Hm."

He refused to look at the ratbag until this godawful conversation was over. He wished with all his heart it already was.

"Guess that isn't something two guys who aren't exactly friends would have talked about, huh?"

"Got that fucking right."

He should really have more clothes. Tidying up his closet so he didn't have to look at Raleigh Fucking Becket's smug-ass face didn't take nearly long enough, considering it was just his bloody coat hanging up. Everything else he owned was either folded up in the drawers or in his duffle on the floor.

"But you never... I dunno, maybe heard anything? Back in the day?"

Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back. "Can we please drop the subject?"

"C'mon, man. I'm not giving you shit, okay?" A strangely irritible huff. "Just... how the hell else am I supposed to know?"

How did this conversation even happen? All he meant to do was reassure the bloke that he was still Raleigh Becket, even if he didn't remember, and that was okay.

But the poor sod had a right to know what little of his past Chuck knew. Dammit.

So, sighing, he turned to face his old rival and was relieved to see no trace of a smirk. "Look, mate. Truth is, I honestly don't know. By all accounts, you fucked more than your share of women back in the golden years. Guess I always assumed you were straight, yeah?"

To his surprise, the bloke frowned again. "But how do I know for sure?"

He grunted and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. "Seriously, Ray. How the hell should I know? Why is this so important all of a sudden?"

"Because now I'm curious."

He rolled his eyes. "Great. Then you're curious. That's your sexuality. Problem fucking sorted."

Blue eyes narrowed. "Can I kiss you?"

If he hadn't already been sitting down, he would have fallen. Eyes wide, jaw regrettably dropped, he stared at the silly, impulsive wanker who looked so serious and wary all at once.

But who wasn't smirking. Who didn't look even a bit like he was taking the piss.

"Please? Just to see?"

He managed to close his mouth enough to make words happen. "See fucking what?"

Well, shit. The bloke flinched and looked away, and Chuck felt like an asshole. He just... incredulous wasn't quite the word. This was so not a conversation he'd ever even considered having. Jesus, even if he and Becket had gotten on from the start, he doubted they'd have talked about anything like this.

"Sorry, mate, but what exactly...?"

Rallying and sitting up to square his shoulders, the poor sod looked him right in the eye. "I just figured if my ass can make you question your sexuality, maybe kissing you can tell me something about mine."

His mouth twitched. Goddammit, he did not want to be amused right now. But Becket's mouth was twitching, too, the goddamn crinkles starting at the corners of those fucking baby blues, and Chuck gave in before he even bothered to start the fight.

"Jesus Christ, Ray. How the hell can I even argue that kind of logic?"

Fuck. The wanker brightened like a goddamn sunrise. "Is that a yes?"

Rolling his eyes and wondering when they'd just fall back into his skull from overexertion, Chuck sighed. "Whatever. No fucking tongue."

"Stack of Bibles." Practically bouncing out of his chair, the silly fuck took what looked distressingly like a sparring stance and gestured. "C'mon, Hansen. On your feet."

Eyes narrow, he slowly stood, rolling his shoulders and refusing to admit that he might be puffing up in response to a possible threat. "If you suddenly decide you're a homophobe and punch me, I _will_ sweep your feet and take you down to the ground."

"Kinky."

And there was the heat in his face all over again. "Jesus. Let's just get this over with."

But now that they stood within arm's length of each other, they just... stopped. Neither of them seemed inclined to make the ultimate move. Becket's eyes dropped to Chuck's mouth, then jerked back up. His throat bobbed on a swallow. Apparently, even the bloke's resurrected impulsive streak could only get him so far.

"This seemed like a lot better idea a minute ago."

Uncomfortable all over again, Chuck grunted. "No one's twisting your arm."

Huffing, the bloke rolled his eyes, then closed them and leaned in. It wasn't much of a kiss. Barely a press of dry lips on dry lips before the silly fuck pulled back and frowned.

"Huh."

Nonplussed, Chuck frowned, too. "Not exactly sounding my battle horn there, Ray."

Blond eyebrows rose.

He sighed. "Jaegers, mate. Each one had its own... fuck, never mind. Are we done yet?"

"I dunno." Another frown. "I didn't really feel anything."

Yet another eyeroll. "Then you're probably straight."

"No, I mean--"

Another huff, and the bloke reached out, grabbed a handful of t-shirt, and hauled Chuck in close for a less grandmotherly kiss. Open mouth, enough pressure to actually feel the firm texture of Becket's lips, the slightest hint of his taste.

The bloke smelled good from this close. Warm and clean and man. The grip on his shirt loosened but didn't release entirely, and suddenly, he didn't want it to. Raleigh tilted his head a bit, and there was that hint of taste again, and Chuck found himself chasing it, opening up a bit more.

And then it was over, and they stared at each other from a few inches apart, and Jesus Christ, what the hell were they thinking?

"Okay."

Fucking hell, but the bastard's voice was low, almost intimate, those blue eyes wide but not scared. Worse, Becket flicked out just the tip of his tongue to lick his lower lip.

"I think I'm maybe not one-hundred percent straight, either."

Swallowing hard and willing himself not to show exactly how much he wanted to chase that tongue with his own, Chuck managed enough volume to not be a whisper.

"Glad we got that sorted."

As one, they suddenly looked away and stepped back, and the moment, whatever it was, passed.

Probably for the best.


	9. Chapter 9

It was perfectly reasonable to assume the weird kissing thing might make things awkward. Chuck reckoned he could be excused for treading lightly the rest of the day and most of the rest of the week, just in case. Becket, the wanker, clearly felt differently and thwapped him on the back of the head when he sorted out why Chuck was suddenly on tenterhooks.

Things pretty much went back to normal after that. Well, the new normal, anyway.

Except nothing was normal at all, because now, Chuck couldn't help but think of that hint of taste, the tip of a pink tongue touching a plump lower lip, the heady, warm scent of the bloke right up against him. Couldn't help but catch the occasional curious, considering look from those pretty blue eyes with the crinkles at the corners.

Madness. Dangerous. For both of them.

Becket wasn't exactly himself right now, and the impulsiveness of that ill-advised kiss just proved it. For all Chuck knew, the bloke might have been a full-on homophobe before he lost his memory. He doubted it, but at the very least, Raleigh Becket had been careful not to be seen with any but female company back in the limelight.

But most likely of all, the silly sod was probably basically straight and just a bit confused about his feelings with no personal history to draw on. Hell, Chuck was damn near the only person Raleigh really knew at this point, really spent time with.

Which was why it was so, so wrong. It would be taking the worst sort of advantage, and whilst Chuck Hansen was no one's idea of a choir boy, he was trying damn hard to be a good friend.

He had to nip this... whatever it was... in the bud. For both their sakes. Put the kibosh on it.

But he couldn't just avoid the bloke. He was Becket's... minder? Helper? Fetch-and-carrier? All of the above? He was the one assigned to making sure the wanker didn't overexert and drown his brain in his own blood again, which meant he was responsible, and he took that responsibility very seriously. At least as seriously as he'd taken his responsibility for the whole bloody world.

Why else would he have so meekly submitted to only getting his dog at night for so long? He missed the little bugger like hell, dammit, but Max couldn't help getting underfoot, and the last thing Becket needed at this point was to faceplant on the shatterdome floor because he'd tripped over Chuck's beloved fur brother.

So it didn't matter how much he suddenly wanted to see if the pretty sod's skin was as smooth as it looked, if the muscle beneath was as firm and tight as it seemed now that the bloke was regaining his strength day by day and week by week. It didn't matter how often he caught Becket's gaze lingering on Chuck's mouth. Or, on one memorable occasion, Chuck's ass.

That one made them _both_ blush.

And he didn't waste energy denying the attraction was there. He didn't even deny that it seemed to be mutual and moreso every day spent in company.

He just... didn't acknowledge it. If he caught himself wanting to reach out and run a fingertip over the heavy fringe of the bloke's eyelashes, he made himself look away. If he caught them sitting a skosh too close together whilst watching movies that Becket didn't remember and Chuck had never seen, he scooted just that much away. If their eyes met and lingered just long enough for a hitch in the breath, he called it a day -- or an evening -- and removed himself from the situation.

He knew the bloke was aware of his constant deflections. Raleigh Becket was many things, including brain-damaged, but he wasn't stupid. And Chuck didn't want to hurt him.

But he also didn't want to talk about it, to say it right out loud. It was hard enough to hold back when it was all subtext and furtive glances, like a pair of fucking teenagers. He'd always been more apt to attack his problems head-on, but... not this time. This wasn't something that could be sorted in a trice.

So, he tried to focus on the bloke's physical recovery and let the rest go. Weekly reports to both Herc and the neurosurgeon bloke, Dr. Singh, helped him keep his responsibilities front and center in his focus. Better still, the conversations with Mori became less tragic the further out from the disconnect they moved, the pair of wankers getting on almost as well as they had before.

Sure, they no longer had shared mindspace between them. That didn't mean they couldn't become good mates more gradually, relearn the respect that had been sprung on them over the neural bridge before. Thus, before long, they nattered along comfortably several times a week, thousands of miles apart but as in sync as they'd ever been in the Drift.

Chuck watched with genuine satisfaction as the bloke seemed to relax by degrees after each new conversation that didn't turn to the past but to the future. Mori said once that Raleigh Becket never really thought about the future, but this version of him sure as hell did. The avid curiosity that had been so absent from the poor sod who strolled into the shatterdome in work-worn rags soon had the three of them -- because Mori and Becket were always quick to draw Chuck in when jaeger news came up -- putting their heads together on a list of potential improvements to the overall jaeger design, should the funding for rebuilds ever come in.

Reroutable oxygen supplies. CO² defensive units to slow the chemical reaction in the event of another acid-spewing kaiju. Sturdier escape pods. Detachable limbs, so the destruction of one didn't fully disable the entire rig or, for that matter, the pilot via feedback to the drivesuit.

No, Becket didn't remember that last bit. He didn't have to. It was imprinted on his skin.

Skin that Chuck wanted to touch, to taste.

_No, dammit!_

Gritting his teeth, he went at the big bag with more irritation than science and refused to let his attention wander over to where Becket stood in his third monthly conference with Dr. Singh and a physical therapist, arguing mildly about the silly sod's latest test results and exactly how much more exercise the bloke should be allowed to try. Becket's vote was, as usual, all the exercise. Singh's was a more conservative "I'm not fixing the next gasket you blow, so _not_ all the exercise".

The PT was somewhere in between and, thus, had been designated the mediator. With a snort, Chuck mentally wished the poor sod luck with that.

He had more important things to think about. Like beating the shit out of the big bag for not taking his mind off how Becket looked in a low-side singlet and loose trackies, a bit sweaty and flushed, his hair mussed and his eyes flashing with impatience to just be better, already. Like how Becket had fallen asleep with less than half an hour to go in the last movie they'd watched the night before, his heavy head leaning on Chuck's shoulder, warm and comfortable and close. Like how Chuck hadn't dared move for fear of waking the pretty bloke up and reminding them both that they couldn't have this, not whilst Becket still didn't know who he really was.

Not whilst a Raleigh with his memory intact wouldn't want anything to do with Chuck Hansen.

"Jesus, Red. What'd the bag ever do to you?"

They'd talked about the "Red" thing. Becket had pointed out with his usual -- if infuriating -- acuity that if Chuck could call him Ray, he should be able to call Chuck Red. Even the protest that Becket had _asked_ to be called Ray fell on deaf ears, as the wanker was quick to remind him that Chuck had only used Ray because it so obviously annoyed before. That Becket actually preferred the name these days was immaterial to the central argument.

Dammit.

"Seriously, kid. What bug flew up your ass today?"

One last punch, and he leaned his sweaty forehead against the canvas, breathing heavily and practically drenched from his workout. He hadn't let himself fall behind just because Becket had to dial back. He didn't even know why. Not like he had to stay in shape to pilot a jaeger anymore.

Dodging the question, he stayed leaning on the big bag, his wrapped hands holding it in place. "You done for the day?"

"Yeah." Sighing, the bloke crossed his arms. "Doc won't budge on the reps. He'll let me up the weight on a few, but no more reps until I adjust to the new weight. Which is all beside the point." Now, the silly bugger had the sack to kick a bare foot out and lightly donk his calf. "What's going on in that angry ginger head of yours?"

He rolled his eyes and picked at one of his wraps to start the unraveling.

"Chuck. C'mon. You think I can't tell when something's wrong?" Another gentle chip to his calf. "I've known you my whole life."

That finally got both a snort and full eye contact. "Wanker."

But Becket, the silly sausage, just smirked. "Better. Now, what's got you so worked up?"

He shouldn't. He _wouldn't._

But the bloke looked earnest and attentive, and Chuck had no idea what he could say to put him off. And suddenly, after weeks -- months -- of avoiding and deflecting, he was tired.

Sighing, he gave in and met those baby blues full-on. "You know what."

Far from backing away, the wanker just shifted from earnest to intent, even taking a step closer. "No need to be worked up, Red. I've made it pretty damn obvious that I'm interested. Haven't I?"

Jesus. To just... lay it out like that. Impulsive git. Chuck was finally starting to appreciate just how much tact and restraint the old Raleigh Becket had learned over the years.

Unfortunately, Becket's newly-regained gung-ho attitude was a huge part of the problem, so he backed the step Becket had taken and put his hands up.

"Ray, mate, you're not yourself right now. It'd be... I don't want...." He wasn't flustered, dammit. He was frustrated. And tempted. And frustrated about being tempted. "It'd be taking advantage, and I won't do that, yeah? Not to you."

To his surprise, the pretty bloke backed off and looked incredulous. "Seriously? That's what's had you so twisted up this whole time?"

"Oi--"

"Jesus, kid, you've spent the past, what, three months convincing me I _am_ myself, and now suddenly you can't take advantage of me because I'm not in my right mind?"

Well, shit, when he put it that way.

"It's not the same thing, and you know it." Shaking his head, he backed another step. "You are Raleigh Becket, yes, but... seriously, mate, you don't remember how big a piece of shit I was to you." He swallowed hard. "If you had your memory, you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

But at that, the bloke's eyebrows furrowed together. "That's not... you said we were starting to be friends. Before. You said you respected me, and I damn sure had to have respected you to have been sparring as hard as you say we were. The way Mako talks, if I didn't care, I'd have taken it easy on you and let you run up points."

Nope. Nope nope nope. He couldn't listen to this. It wasn't Raleigh talking. Well, it _was,_ but not the Raleigh from before. Though that Raleigh seemed further and further away with each passing week.

The confusing bastard stepped closer again, lowering his voice and reaching out, almost like to a wild animal.

"Chuck, even if I had my memory back, I'd remember that you've been here for me this whole time, even admitting all along that we weren't that close beforehand. You've put most of your life on hold to get me back on my feet. Unless I was the biggest asshole under the sun, I think everything from before would've been forgiven by now."

He needed to walk away. Deflect and avoid. That strategy had been working for him. Why the hell had he given in, even this far?

"Raleigh... Ray...." Huffing a laugh that didn't sound at all funny, he backed further away and shook his head. "It's not right. It's... it's too soon, yeah? If we... and you got your memory back, you'd--"

That open, coaxing expression hardened. "And what if my memory never comes back, huh? What then? We just never see what could be between us?"

He had an answer for that. He just... couldn't think of it right now with the bloke looking right at him, spearing him with those uncomfortably direct eyes. But he had to stop this before it got out of hand.

"And what if your memory _does_ come back, and it turns out you're straight, or always thought you were? What if you're full-on homophobic?"

That hard jawline clenched further. God, Chuck didn't want to do this, but he had to stop... whatever this was, once and for all. For both their sakes.

But he kept his voice as gentle as he could. He wasn't trying to be an asshole, dammit.

"Mate... what if we've been fucking for _months,_ and you wake up one morning and realize you're horrified by what we've been doing, and _I'm_ the fucker that took advantage of you not remembering that you're disgusted by a man's touch? Eh? What then?" His throat tightened. "Forgive and forget?"

For the first time, the surety in those baby blues wavered. Becket's eyes darted one way, then the other, the stubborn jaw clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing.

"You'd have known." But the bloke didn't sound at all sure. "If I was a homophobic asshole, you'd have known before. It... it would've been obvious."

Jesus, he hated the doubt all over the poor sod's face. But, dammit....

"Told you before, Ray; we didn't exactly talk about this shit."

Or anything, really. Because they hadn't been friends. They'd only been not-quite-rivals-anymore until Chuck realized the poor bastard didn't have anyone else.

"So I wouldn't know, and you don't know, and I'm not gonna risk that."

_Because it would fuck you up, yeah, and I don't wanna do that, but it'd rip my goddamn heart out to have you only to lose you like that, and I'm sure as fuck not risking that. Not now._

But he didn't say it. He didn't even want to think it, to think about how far in the shit he already was.

Goddammit.

Raleigh swallowed hard, the stubborn impulsiveness wavering and dying and leaving him just... tired. Tired and sad.

"And what I want... what the me that doesn't remember a goddamn thing about myself wants... doesn't matter?"

Fuck. He felt his own defenses crumbling at that awful, giving-up expression and had to look away. His hands hurt, and he finally realized he'd been clenching them both and one was still wrapped up, the straps straining with the force of his grip.

"It does. 'Course it does." Sighing heavily, he made his fists unclench. "I just... it's only been a few months. If you get your memory back--"

The bloke's jaw clenched all over again, and he spun on his heel and started away.

"Raleigh, wait."

But Raleigh didn't wait. Didn't even hesitate.

"I'm trying not to take advantage, goddammit! I don't wanna fucking hurt you!"

There was no door to slam, but somehow, the bloke disappearing into the hallway felt pretty goddamn definitive anyway. He wanted to go after the poor bastard, but... maybe they _needed_ a bit of separation. They'd been all but joined at the hip for weeks now. Hell, maybe that's all this was -- over-familiarity masquerading as interest.

Sighing and finally unwrapping his other hand, he acknowledged that, for him at least, that was bullshit, and he was tired of repeating it to himself. He'd always found Raleigh Becket interesting, even when he borderline hated the bloke for fucking off after Knifehead. Familiarity hadn't done anything but make him appreciate the wanker for more than the objective perfection of his ass. And knowing said wanker wanted him right back didn't fucking help the situation.

And if he was honest, he wasn't really concerned about Raleigh Becket being a homophobe. He doubted a bloke that decent was capable of being disgusted by someone's sexuality. For one thing, if Mori had seen any such tendency in the Drift, she wouldn't have had a moment's respect for him. Being the adopted Japanese child of a black man had left her with a foul taste in her mouth for any kind of intolerance.

So no, he didn't think Raleigh was homophobic. But that didn't mean the bloke thought he was anything but straight before or would be comfortable with finding out, after the fact, that he wasn't.

And none of that meant he'd want anything to do with Chuck, who had been a right asshole to him from the start. Being honest about their history didn't mean it hadn't happened or that a Raleigh Becket with his memory would want to move past it.

And he was so, so tired of arguing with himself about it. He knew it was wrong, plain and simple, for so many reasons. Argument over.

One of them had to be the adult, dammit.

Not for the first time, Chuck wondered who the fuck had nominated him for a position so obviously unsuited someone of his disposition.

Oh. Right. Becket had. Because the pretty wanker hadn't known better. Which was the whole bloody point.

Goddammit.


	10. Chapter 10

Okay, he was starting to worry. Becket had been mysteriously absent since the big conversation in the kwoon, and, frankly, Chuck had already casually looked everywhere he knew to look. The bloke was probably still angry with him, so he didn't want to set the metaphorical hounds on him -- or Max -- but... dammit. He was supposed to be looking after him.

Undecided, he tentatively settled on going back to his bunk to regroup. Maybe the bloke had already beaten him there, since they seemed to fetch up there more often than not.

So he sped his steps without quite breaking into a jog and tried not to look worried as he hurried past the occasional 'dome personnel. Unfortunately, when he shoved open his bunk's door, the room was empty. No Becket.

Yes. He'd knocked on the bloke's door on the way by. No Becket there, either.

Frowning, he made himself sit down at his desk and think instead of running off in futile search for someone who may not want to be found just yet. Most of the more restrictive orders -- no stairs, no running, no lifting anything even remotely heavy -- had been lifted, provided the bloke didn't go out of his way to overexert, but... that was the problem. Without his goddamn memory, Becket was impulsive and impatient as hell and seemed to live to overexert.

He tapped on his desk array, half-hoping for a message from the bloke, then worrying more when he saw three missed notices from Mori. That couldn't be good.

It seemed to take forever for her to pick up, but when she did, she got right to the point.

"Where have you been? And why did Raleigh ask me if he was homophobic before he lost his memory?"

_Jesus Christ, Becket._

Pinching the bridge of his nose against a rising headache, he sighed. "I was trying to give him some space. Think we've been tripping over each other the past few days." It was close enough to the truth that he didn't feel bad for the fudging. But he couldn't help but worry. "Was he... upset? When he asked?"

Her expression changed, and he abruptly realized that, though he and Mori had become rather close since their mutual friend lost his past and they'd joined forces to help him regain it, she would always be Raleigh's friend first. It made sense, of course. They were copilots, and that superceded other attachments by its very nature. She and Chuck had known each other longer, but she and Becket had Drifted.

But still. It was something of a shock to watch her all but close up on him for the first time since the fight in the hallway all those months ago.

"Not upset, exactly. More... disappointed." She tilted her head one way, then the other. "At himself, I think. At the possibility." Her eyes were very direct. Dammit. "I told him anyone who thought Raleigh Becket could dislike someone for who they are is a fool."

She was good. Like an icepick between the ribs.

He was pretty sure his forced grin looked exactly as painful as it felt. "What about me? He didn't like me for who I was, and I don't think anyone would blame him for it."

Softening, she shook her head. "Chuck. No."

He forced a shrug. "I admit it. I was an asshole. The only reason he likes me now is because he doesn't remember any of that."

_Which is why I can't have him._

_Dammit._

"Chuck."

Sighing, he gave in and met her eyes. Well, her chin. He couldn't quite face her disappointment at this late date.

"He never hated you. You know that, right?"

He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "Maybe not, but he didn't have any more use for me than I did him, yeah?" Another shrug. "I'm not blaming him. Just... it's a fact."

She sighed. "Only in the past tense. Why are you always so hard on yourself?"

Frowning, he finally managed to look up all the way. "Oi?"

"Chuck, honestly." She shook her head. "You stood arm-and-arm with us while Sensei gave his farewell speech." She was tough. Her voice never wavered. "You were willing to self-detonate to give Raleigh and I a chance at collapsing the Breach. Do you honestly think he had no use for you after all that?"

His jaw clenched. "That's not... yes, fine, but that's mutual respect. It's not the same thing."

She frowned. "The same thing as what?"

Oops. The last thing he wanted was Mako Mori knowing that he and Becket were... interested. He felt guilty enough for letting it happen in the first place. He didn't need her lecturing him on how wrong it would be to--

"Wait."

_Shit._

"Chuck, are you two--"

"No."

But it was too abrupt, too defensive, and he knew as soon as he said it that he'd just given it all away. Mori officially knew.

"Chuck!"

"I'm not!" His face heated, and he had no doubt his stupid, pasty skin was almost purple with shame. "We're not, okay? I won't-- it's wrong, and I know it, so we're not."

"Wait, stop." She put her hands up and closed her eyes, possibly praying for calm. Or meditating on the fly. "Considering Raleigh asked me two hours ago if he was homophobic before he lost his memory and you just said you think it would be wrong for you two to be together...?"

"Nonono." That wasn't what he meant at all. "That's not-- nothing like that happened. I didn't mean wrong like that." This time, it was him trying to center himself. "What I meant was it'd be wrong for me to let anything happen between us until Raleigh gets his memory back and can decide for himself, yeah?"

He watched warily as she absorbed this. She wasn't one to fly off the handle, but she could also keep a lot of fire hidden behind that mask of tranquility.

"It appears there _is_ something between you two, then." Before he could protest, she focused on him again. "Where does homophobia come into it?"

Sighing, he slumped. He clearly wouldn't get out of this without telling her the whole damn story.

"It doesn't, okay? A while back, I slipped and told him I was bisexual. Nothing in it at the time, just... it was relevant to a conversation. So he asked if he was, too, and I had no idea. How would I? Not like we were friends before to have talked about shite like that, yeah?"

She didn't have to say a word. He saw the exasperation all over her.

"Yes, fine, mutual respect, but that doesn't mean... fuck. Anyway, when I told him I didn't know, he asked if he could kiss me to see."

Her lips twitched, but, again, she was good. Or perhaps she knew her copilot better than Chuck did.

"So we did, just for a second, and he said maybe he wasn't completely straight, either. But who's to know, yeah? So--"

"Ahem."

He frowned.

"Really, Chuck?"

The frown deepened. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You never thought to just ask me?"

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Oi, none of my business, was it?"

Shaking her head, she briefly touched her temple as if he'd given her his headache.

"You two are the most stubborn, blind, ridiculous--" She cut herself off and eyed him intently. "How is it _not_ your business when you clearly realized at some point that you both felt something more than friendship?"

He... had no answer to that. It had never occurred to him to ask her. Part of that, he knew, was not wanting anyone to know. Maybe if he ignored it long enough it would either go away or... he didn't know what.

She sighed heavily. "Chuck, Raleigh is bisexual. Yes, he tended toward women for most of the limelight, so that's all anyone ever saw, but the attraction was there. After what happened with that reporter woman who came between him and Yancy, he began to prefer men. And after Knifehead...."

Her eyes drifted to one side, and Chuck saw a hint of Raleigh's sorrow in her expression. He hadn't seen that exact shade of grief in the bloke since he lost his memory, and it hurt something deep inside him to see it now. To remember that it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if the bloke never remembered that lasting a pain, even if it had taught him to consider consequences before doing the first thing that popped into his giant, stupid, unpredictable head.

"After Knifehead, he didn't want anyone."

Understandable. Chuck wasn't sure he would, either.

Straightening, she refocused. "At any rate, his sexuality isn't an issue."

But he shook his head. "What about the fact that I've basically been his minder for going on three months now? That I'm supposed to be looking after him?" She started to answer, but he cut her off. "No, Mako. I won't take advantage of him. Of the fact that he's grateful for the help now and doesn't remember that I treated him like shit before."

This time, when she started to answer, she stopped herself. Then: "Okay. Yes, I can... I can see that being a concern." Another sigh, then a frown. "Wait. You said-- how did you put it when you told him that? About not wanting to take advantage?"

"Uh." Frowning himself, he tried to remember. "I just... lots of reasons, yeah? Like what if we... ahem... and he woke up one morning with his memory back and realized he was a homophobe? That it wouldn't be right to start something he might not have wanted if he still remembered all my bullshit. That we shouldn't do anything until his memory came back because it hasn't been long enough to know it's gone for good--"

"Oh."

It was a soft sound. It shouldn't have interrupted him so effectively. Unfortunately, its very lack of punch was what got his attention.

"Mako?"

"Chuck... where is he? Right now?"

Uneasy now, he shifted in his seat. "I dunno. I was looking for him before I came back to my room to see if he was here and saw that you'd been ringing me up."

"You have to find him. Right now."

Fuck uneasy. The look on her face had him downright scared.

"Mako, what the fuck?"

"Chuck, please. He's been asking me about the Drift lately, and he asked again earlier. About how it worked, how it was monitored." Jesus, her eyes looked huge in her pale face. "He asked about Drift log data, Chuck. How to access it. How long it's stored. You have to find him. I think...."

No. No no no. Raleigh Goddamn Impulsive Becket was not currently looking for a functioning pons in a futile attempt to download his own log data. That wasn't a real Drift. The data captured wasn't memories. It was just... data. Measures of brain waves and electrochemical function.

But Becket might not know that. He wouldn't remember on his own. Not if he didn't remember the difference between a functional neural bridge and a diagnositic one.

Four aneurysms. Had three months, give or take, been long enough to strengthen those weakened blood vessels, one of which had already ruptured? Even a diagnostic load could fucking well be too much strain.

Jesus. Jesus Christ.

Feeling as pale and huge-eyed as Mori, Chuck tried to speak loud enough to be heard. "Did he... say where...?"

"No." White as a ghost, she abruptly stood up. "I'm coming back. Right now. I'll find a way. You check...." She paused, thinking furiously. "Storage. There's a simulator pons in one of the storage bays in the vault. He won't know where it is and will have to search for it. And do some assembly, though it was mostly intact. There may still be time."

But even if she jumped a chopper the second she signed off, it would be at least three hours for the trip back. Likely four. And she'd talked to him, what, an hour ago? More?

Too long.

Jesus, he had to find the bloke before--

_"Chuck."_

He blinked away the encroaching panic at the sharp tone. She stared at him, bent over at the waist with her hands planted on the desktop.

"You can find him."

Of course he could. There were only so many places to look, even in a damn near city-sized shatterdome. The problem was finding the wanker before he popped his brain like a goddamn blood balloon.

But he nodded, because what else was there to do?

She nodded in return and signed off, and the hunt was on.


	11. Chapter 11

A quick check of the 'dome's inventory indicated the simulator pons was in one of three storage alcoves in the lowest floor of the building. Chuck briefly debated taking Max with him and putting him on the scent, but he didn't want the poor little sod to be in the way if Chuck had to perform another rescue bridal carry to medical.

God, he hoped that wouldn't be necessary. It'd been bad enough when he wasn't half-way in love with the bloke.

Jesus, he didn't need to think like that right now.

Grim-faced and not caring if people reported him running through the building like a nutter, he threw himself into the stairwell because the lift was too goddamn slow and pelted down the stairs three and even four at a time. At one point, he took an entire level in two leaps, but he damn near faceplanted into the turn of the wall, so he forced himself to slow down at least enough to not kill himself.

He wouldn't do Becket any good if he broke his own bloody neck trying to find him.

He didn't bother counting the floors in his mad descent. He just ran, his mind a static of worry and possibilities. How long had it taken the wanker to find the unit? How much assembly had been required? The crafty bastard would've need instructions or a schematic, surely. And tools. Would it have all been bundled together?

His heart thundered in his chest, and he could practically hear the final seconds of Raleigh Becket's short but heroic life ticking off the goddamn clock, and Jesus, how many levels did this fucking 'dome have, anyway? He felt like he'd been careening down stairwells for half his life, at this point.

Thankfully, a quick glimpse at a passing number told him there were only three more floors to go before the vault level. He'd be in time. He had to be in time. He didn't want to think about what he'd do if he wasn't.

This was closing the Breach all over again. Failure simply wasn't an option.

_Please, hold him up. Hide the schematics. He had to search all three alcoves because he started with the wrong one. Geiszler cadged too many parts for his goddamn Frankenstein pons. Something. **Anything.**_

The security door at the bottom of the steps was wide open, and Chuck cursed. A small part of him had hoped the bloke hadn't even gotten this far, but again, Raleigh wasn't an idiot, no matter that he was brain-damaged. Of course he'd checked the bloody inventory. Just as Chuck had.

Still on the run, he thundered through the open door and into the echoey, cavernous vault level. The data map had highlighted three alcoves maybe two-thirds of the way down and off to the right. The place was a goddamn labyrinth, but the simulator had still been in use perhaps a year ago, so its spare parts should've been some of the last things stored, which thankfully put it closer to the main aisle.

"Raleigh!"

The shout echoed in a cacophony around him, but he didn't hear a reply. His heart, already pounding from exertion and anxiety, jumped into his throat as he skidded into the turn and slowed enough to start counting alcoves.

"Ray, goddammit, answer me! I know you're down here!"

His own voice mocked him from every side, but he ignored it and slowed almost to a stop as he realized one of the alcoves' grating was open.

Everything inside him suddenly went very still.

"Raleigh? Mate, are... please tell me you're in there."

Now that he wasn't shouting and thundering about, he heard the quiet hum of machinery and felt his heart sink. His boots might as well have been jaeger feet for how heavy they had become, but he forced them to carry him to the open alcove and peer inside.

_Oh, thank God or Zeus or the Cosmic Bloody Muffin or who the fuck ever looks after fools and this fucking wanker--_

The goddamn destruction of his sanity, otherwise known as Raleigh Fucking Becket, sat on a crate with the scaled-down pons around his head like a bullshit halo, glaring at the monitoring screen before him with balked anger. Yes, the bulk of the unit wired up to the pons was active and humming, but it clearly wasn't in use yet.

He was in time.

"Jesus Christ, Raleigh, if you ever scare me like that again--"

"I'm doing this. Nothing you say will change my mind."

Still too relieved to be furious, Chuck huffed and stepped closer. "It won't work, mate. You're--"

"I said I'm doing this. You can either help or get the fuck out."

He frowned and stepped closer. "Oi, listen to me. If you're trying to get your memory back with data logs from your last successful Drift, it doesn't work like that."

"Bullshit." Unfazed, the wanker glared even harder at the screen without so much as flicking Chuck a glance. "I've done my research. If I can set it to recognize the data set as another transmitting pons, my brain should treat it like an actual neural bridge and adjust to match."

Would that actually--

Not the time. "Okay, maybe, if you were Dr. Lightcap and had done about a thousand trials with reduced loads on healthy patients to test it out first. But mate, your brain has already been through the shit. Four aneurysms, yeah?"

Jesus, he hated when that stubborn jaw set. "I can take a diagnostic load. That's less than a training load and a helluva lot less than an actual Drift."

"Can you?" He wanted to kick over all the equipment and break everything in reach, but he wasn't sure what kind of programming the bloke had pulled up, and God only knew what the impetuous bastard might start up, just to spite him for making a move. "You sure of that, Ray? Because I'm not. And I'd rather you not scramble your brain any further than it already is, thanks."

That earned a quick flash of angry blue eyes before that stupid, stubborn jaw set itself again. "Worth it."

He took another step that put him in arm's reach, but that earned a full-on glare, so he backed off with his hands up. "How so?"

The glare faltered, and for the first time, the bloke looked approachable as he dropped his gaze to his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "You said you were an asshole before, but you never said you were a _noble_ asshole."

He blinked, wondering if he'd missed a step.

Becket huffed, though the sound held no amusement whatsoever and continued. "Since you insist we can't even _try_ to be together until I get my memory back because you don't wanna take advantage of my oh-so-delicate condition."

Sighing, he slumped and put his hands down. "Raleigh, mate... that's not worth you risking your life over. What good would--"

"It is to me, dammit." That goddamn jaw clenched again. "Don't you get it, Chuck?" Another glare from blue eyes that looked almost electric with the light reflected from the screen. "I am head over fucking heels for you and have been for weeks. Months, maybe. Since it became an option, anyway. You keep saying I wouldn't be if I remembered all the bullshit from before, but... wouldn't I?" Another huff, just as barren of laughter as the one before. "Jesus, I don't have to know my whole goddamn history to know you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Light-headed -- he'd thought the bloke was attracted, at best, but... head over heels? -- he tried to shake his head without falling down with it. "But I'm not. Jesus, mate, I antagonized you almost from the first second I saw you. By the time you fucking decked me for it, I deserved a lot worse than an arm bar, yeah?"

"Goddammit, Chuck, give yourself some fucking credit, will you?"

Oh, thank a deity, but the wanker stood up off the crate and shoved the pons off his head to glare better.

"You _saved_ my _life._ I trusted you, something about you, from the first second I woke up, and I didn't even know that. I didn't have a clue who you were, but you were just so... and you shoved the techs away to get to me when I couldn't... and when I grabbed your hand, it was because you felt like the only solid thing in the world." He shook his head, no longer glaring but just as intent. "And you've been the best damn friend I think anyone could have since then, proving that first instinct was right. How the hell was I supposed to _not_ fall for you?"

Speechless, Chuck could only gape.

"Chuck...." Slumping, the poor sod lowered his head. "Mako says I never used to think about the future. Well, I don't have a past and may never get it back. And I'm still not sure I want it, honestly." Shrugging, he gestured at the hodge-podge pile of rubbish huddled in the middle of the room. "But if that's what it takes to be with you in the present, I'll do it. Because I fucking well want a future. It's all I have left."

The bottom dropped out of everything, and before he could rethink himself -- _responsible adult, goddammit!_ \-- Chuck strode forward, grabbed the impulsive bastard that had set his whole life topsy-turvy by both arms, and kissed him. Kissed him like a starving man ate his first meal in a month. Kissed him like he was a desert and Raleigh was an oasis. Kissed him like the only air was in Raleigh Becket's lungs and he'd suffocate without it.

Oh, thank fuck, but the gorgeous bastard kissed back just as hard and desperate, wrapping him up in arms that still weren't back to their full strength but were plenty strong enough to crush the breath right out of him.

Or maybe that was the kiss.

Before long, they broke apart far enough to catch their breath, leaning their foreheads together, eyes closed. For this one, beautiful, uncomplicated moment, Chuck didn't let himself think about whether or not this was a bad idea, if he was taking advantage of the bloke's trust, if this was something they'd both come to regret if or when Raleigh remembered everything. Right now, none of that mattered.

Then, without opening his eyes, he smiled. "You, mate, are a scary son of a bitch. I dunno how your brother put up with you before you learned to _not_ do the first goddamn thing to pop into your head."

Raleigh snorted and leaned back a bit, prompting Chuck to open his eyes. Jesus, the bloke was pretty from this close.

"I get the impression from Mako that he was kind of an enabler." He smirked. "All the articles on us say he was wiser and more mature, but apparently, that was PR fantasy. She told me once that when she was a kid, Sensei let slip that it was insanity itself to put the Becket brothers in the same conn pod, but since we kept getting the job done, he guessed insanity had its uses."

It was his turn to snort, though he didn't loose his grip on the pretty bastard's waist. "I believe it. You're a fucking nutter, and you're taking me down with you." His smirk softened into a crooked grin. "Guess I'll just quit fighting the inevitable and let it happen, yeah?"

Blue eyes brightened, the bloke's whole damn face lighting up. "Even if I never get my memory back?"

Aaaaaaannnnnd the smirk came back. "Are you kidding? At this point, I almost hope you don't. Who the fuck else would have me?"

A snicker and a kiss -- and another, and another, and a roaming hand or two -- and Raleigh eventually pulled away enough to prop his hands on his hips and frown down at the pons set-up. Without a word, Chuck kicked it over, then nudged it as far into a dark corner as he could, not even bothering to power down the tower, though the monitor went dark when the screen cracked. Then, he jerked the power supply out of the wall and tossed it on top of the pile.

When he was satisfied the damn thing couldn't do any more damage, he nodded once, then turned back to Raleigh, who had crossed his arms and was trying mightily to glare at him.

"Yes, Chuck. I _was_ done with that. Thanks for asking."

He shrugged. "What, you want I should burn it to sludge, just to be sure?"

Rolling his eyes, the silly bastard turned and strolled out of the alcove without waiting. "I could've taken a diagnostic load."

Snorting, he jogged enough to catch up, then elbowed the rotten sod. "If you swear on your life you'll never put that to the test, I'll agree with you."

Uh-oh. Now the wanker looked interested all over again. "See, now I wanna prove it."

He smirked as he led the way to the lift because no way in hell was he trudging back up all those fucking stairs. "Don't make me tell Mori."

"Don't bring Mako into this."

"Someone has to be a goddamn adult, and it clearly won't be either of us."

"Ugh. Fine."

But the silly wanker wasn't actually angry, and Chuck wasn't anywhere near frustrated, and as the lift started up, he couldn't help but think maybe it was taking them into the future Raleigh never thought about and Chuck never expected to live to see.

Or maybe just to Chuck's bunk to make out.

Either way, they currently had the lift to themselves and at least two months of pining to make up for, so before Raleigh could think of something else to bicker about, Chuck put his mouth to much better use.

And ignored both Mori's eye-rolling exasperation that the emergency trip wasn't necessary and the sternly worded memo to all shatterdome personnel the next day about the inappropriateness of certain levels of nudity and physical contact in public spaces, including but not limited to _the one goddamn lift everybody in the 'dome has to use, rangers._

Worth it.


	12. Chapter 12

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

"Chuck?"

"Mm?"

The bloke's breath caught. "Why did the phrase 'drop you like a sack of kaiju shit' just occur to me? In your voice?"

"Oi, fuck, really? You remember _now,_ with your cock in my mouth?"

"Seriously, were there finger guns? I don't see you as a finger gun kind of guy."

"Jesus. Christ." Chuck looked down at the evidence that he'd been doing such a good job and sighed. "I reckon it was nice whilst it lasted."

Raleigh Becket, always and forever a wanker, smirked down at him, flushed and sweaty and madly beautiful. "You really think finger guns override your blowjob skills?"

He couldn't help himself. He grinned. "Guess that depends on how strongly you feel about finger guns."

Blue eyes darkened. "Did I tell you to stop?"

Running his hands up gorgeous thighs, he slowly shook his head. "No."

He loved it when the bloke caught his breath like that. "Then don't."

So he didn't. Simple as that.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? Man, I hope you guys enjoyed this one! Oddly enough, this is one that had stalled out on me a while back, and I was working on something completely different.
> 
> Then... BOOM. Two days, 7600 words, and it was done.
> 
> I can't with my brain, guys. It won't let me.


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